


Rock Solid

by Passion4Spike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passion4Spike/pseuds/Passion4Spike
Summary: 2020 Elysian Fields Secret Santa Exchange gift for: MissLuciBuffy comes to some realizations about herself, the nature of her love, and her feelings for Spike on the eve of the biggest fight of her life, but will it be too little, too late?  Spoiler Alert: No, it won’t.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	Rock Solid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissLuci](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLuci/gifts).



> Begins in BtVS Season 7 during Chosen. Ignores comics. Assumes knowledge of Season 5 of Angel, the Series.NC17 for language and Sexual Situations. Some Dialogue borrowed from ‘Chosen’ written by Joss Whedon.
> 
> Thanks to RKM’s lovely story ‘Merry and Bright’ for reminding me about the treasures in the Tomb of Amara which I put to good use here.
> 
> All the love and sloppy, socially-distanced smoochies to my lovely friend PaganBaby for her betaing and banner-making skills! She rocks!
> 
> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/50447883@N08/50712322461/in/album-72157717215778772/)

* * *

“Twas the night before the apocalypse, and all through the house, the kiddies were all a-twitter, ‘cept the Slayer who was up on the roof... brooding?” Spike guessed as he slowly approached said Slayer.

“I don’t _brood_.” Buffy turned around from where she’d been facing the big, raised planter that stood sentry over the second story of her house, and gave him a wry smile. “And aren’t poems supposed to, you know, be all rhyme-y? You’re a terrible poet.”

Spike snorted. “Yeah, well, some things not even a soul can mend.”

Spike stopped a few feet away, his head tilted, just taking her in. She was dressed conservatively as had become her custom – slacks and a blouse. Gone were the short skirts and colorful, sparkly slips of fabric she used to wear. Gone, too, was the innocent girl he’d first seen fighting behind the Bronze. This Slayer was all woman, all girlish innocence stripped away, leaving the steely warrior in its stead. He knew he had some hand in that transformation and hated himself for it, but it wasn’t all down to him. It was the life of a Slayer, always being the one to make the hard decisions, to face the evils of the universe and live each day with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Whatcha doing, then?” he wondered, pulling himself from his musings and taking another cautious step forward.

Buffy turned back to the planter and broke off a brown, dead twig from what had once been a plant. “I wanted ...” She shook her head, her long, golden hair shimmering in the starlight. “It’s stupid,” she admitted, breaking off another twig, and another, making a bouquet of them in her fingers.

“Not stupid if it’s what you feel. Tell me,” Spike encouraged, coming up to stand beside her, looking down at the dead things in the planter.

Buffy swallowed. “I miss Mom,” she said after a pause. “She used to keep this so nice,” Buffy explained, waving the dead sticks at the planter. “It was something she loved doing. This time of year, she’d always have petunias in it. She’d go to a special nursery that had the old-timey ones – ones that smelled nice. She’d drag pots of them up through the house and out that window. I told her I could bring them up the tree, but she didn’t want any help. This was hers and she loved it,” the Slayer revealed before stopping and taking a deep breath. She looked up at Spike. “Now, the whole house is full of all these girls and their stuff. It keeps spreading out, taking over, like mold growing everywhere. It doesn’t even feel like our house anymore, but this ... up here, it still feels like Mom. I should’ve gotten petunias, I should’ve kept it up ...” she confessed, shaking her head, looking down at her bundle of dried, brown sticks.

“Had a bit on your mind of late, luv,” Spike pointed out.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Ya think? I’m getting ready to go into battle, to ... to do something that no one is sure will work, and ... I want my mommy.” She looked over at him, her expression uncertain. “Is that pathetic, or what?”

“Not pathetic,” Spike promised her, reaching out to touch her cheek reassuringly. “Been over a century and I still miss my mum every now and again. Is natural, I reckon. Mums kept us safe. No matter what the world threw at us, could come home to our mums and they’d put everything to rights.”

Buffy gave him a small smile as he dropped his hand from her skin. She turned and slid down to sit on the warm shingles with her back against the planter, Spike following her lead, sitting next to her. Buffy laid her spray of dead twigs down before turning to look at him. “I guess ... I just hope. God, I told Mom, I _promised_ I’d look after Dawn, and look what’s happening. She’s right here in the line of fire. I tried to send her away and I couldn’t even get that right.”

Buffy sighed and leaned toward the vampire, tucking herself against his side. His arm was around her the next moment, a comforting weight on her shoulders, somehow taking the pressure off them rather than adding more. She wasn’t sure why she’d said those things to Angel the previous night – about Spike not being her boyfriend, and hedging with the ‘he’s in my heart’ stuff. Although, really, they weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, she and Spike, they’d never been that. And what she felt for him ... it didn’t feel like what she’d felt for Angel. And that had been love, she was sure. If she loved Spike, shouldn’t it feel the same? All that giddy excitement and schoolgirl titters?

With Spike it was different – a slow burn deep inside her that made her feel warm and glowy, and oddly safe in ways no one else ever did. Buffy could be herself with Spike – that had always been true – and he accepted her without ever trying to change her. She didn’t have to be strong around him, but she didn’t have to be weak, either. She didn’t have to pretend or put on a brave face; she could be who she was.

So, she didn’t know what to call what she felt for Spike. It was almost like every twist and turn the path of their lives had taken had twined them together, shaped them to fit into each other without her noticing as it happened. Every time they’d failed to kill each other, every act of deception or mercy, every blow, every drop of blood, every kiss, every touch, every harsh word, every vow, every promise, every tear – it had all led here. 

Wherever ‘here’ was.

“We aren’t all gonna make it, Spike,” Buffy whispered finally, breaking the comfortable silence they shared, both lost in their own thoughts.

“Know that, pet.”

“One of us needs to. One of us needs to make sure Dawn’s safe, make sure she gets out,” Buffy declared, pulling back a bit so she could look up into his eyes. “You promised until the end of the world.”

“I remember,” Spike assured her, meeting her penetrating gaze with determination. “But she needs her big sis. Not sure she even likes me of late.”

Buffy shrugged and settled her head back on his shoulder. “She likes you, she just – she didn’t understand what happened between us. She didn’t know how I could forgive you.”

“Not sure I do either, luv.”

“It’s complicated,” Buffy admitted.

Spike raised his brows. “Been known to follow along some fairly complicated plots ... ‘Twin Peaks’ was a doodle.”

“You understood ‘Twin Peaks’?” Buffy challenged, leaning away again to look up at him. “You’re lying.”

“Am not,” Spike sniffed. “Hit me with your best shot, Slayer. Your complicated mind has met its match.”

Buffy snorted and laid her head back on his shoulder. She remained silent for so long Spike thought she wasn’t going to answer. “I forgave you because one of us needed to,” she said finally, her voice soft, drifting gently on the night air.

“Lost me ‘round that bend,” Spike admitted.

“Told you so,” she replied sardonically.

“Gotta give me a bit more to work with here, pet. That didn’t even have any llamas in it.”

Buffy sighed. “Okay ... so, when Angel lost his soul, he did some pretty horrible things. He killed Miss Calendar and left her body in Giles’ bed; he tried to break me, turn me into the next Drusilla,” Buffy said bitterly. “But the point is, we all eventually forgave him, even though he never really took responsibility for any of those things he’d done. He didn’t feel any guilt over any of it without his soul. And when he got it back, it was always ‘Angelus’ did it, as if it was someone else completely. But you ...”

Buffy paused, gnawing at her lip as she thought a moment. “You were ... horrified with yourself. As horrified as I was. I remember the look in your eyes, in the bathroom ... after, when I stopped you. You were so horrified you went to Africa and fought for your soul, and when you came back it was never, ‘ _He_ hurt the girl’, it was always, _‘I_ hurt the girl.’ That was ... unexpected.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a sodding git like Peaches,” Spike grumbled.

Buffy pulled away from him, shifting her position to face him. “Yes, we know – and you have completely different coloring,” she teased lightly.

His arm slipped from her shoulders and she took his hand in both of hers as she looked him in the eye, her expression turning serious again. “We’ve all done bad things, Spike. I tried to kill all my friends last year, Willow flayed Warren and almost ended the world, Xander ...” Buffy paused, remembering a hyena-possessed, sexual-assault-attempting Xander. “Xander’s got dirt on his hands, too ... even Giles has had his moments – most recently trying to have you killed. Faith ... well, don’t get me started. We’ve all done bad things under extenuating circumstances. And we’ve all been forgiven. Why should you be any different?”

“Not sure my circumstances were all that extenuating,” Spike admitted shamefully, dropping his gaze to the shingles.

“Well, I do. What we had ... what we’d been doing, it was ... violent, brutal ... sometimes even cruel. I hurt you ... I did things to you I’m ashamed of. I used you, I hurt you, I took advantage of your feelings. I knew it was wrong, I just ... I needed what you could give me, and I took it.”

“Wasn’t complaining.”

“No, but that didn’t make what I did any better than what you did. And two wrongs don’t make a right and I’m not saying I deserved it or was asking for it, or anything like that, but I’m just saying ... it’s complicated. We were in a bad place, but that’s not where we are now. We’ve both changed. And I’m telling you to forgive yourself. I have. I see the good man in you, Spike. I believe in you and I ... I care about you. And I trust you with more than my life ... I trust you with Dawn’s.”

Spike cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Do everything I can to protect you and the bit. Got my word.”

“I know,” Buffy breathed, slowly leaning toward him.

Spike froze in place. If his heart could beat it would’ve been breaking his ribs. He waited, unmoving, as Buffy’s lips descended toward his at glacial speed. If he wanted to move, to turn away, he had plenty of time. He didn’t.

“Can I kiss you?” she whispered, her breath like a warm, summer breeze against his cool skin. Spike swallowed and licked his lips. He didn’t answer, couldn’t find even that one word, but simply closed the short distance between them.

Their lips met with incredible tenderness. Spike cupped her face with his free hand. She tasted of ripe strawberries and sunshine and everything he loved and longed for. Her lips were soft and pliable beneath his, giving rather than demanding. She was right, it was like kissing a different person, though not so different that his cock didn’t instantly become uncomfortably hard. It was what he’d wanted so often during their tumultuous affair, what she’d never allowed him to be – gentle, loving, a man rather than a monster.

“Buffy,” Spike moaned into her mouth, wanting so much more but afraid to hope, afraid to ask, afraid to even think it.

“Make love to me,” she whispered back, releasing his hand to cradle his face between her palms. Buffy pulled back to look into those expressive eyes, the eyes now that revealed not only his heart, but his soul. “Please?”

Spike’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, but no words could get by the lump that had formed there. He nodded tentatively, afraid if he made any sudden moves he’d wake from this dream.

“Faith still has my bed,” Buffy reminded him. “And that cot is a little cramped. How do you feel about here, under the stars?”

Spike swept his eyes up to the sky above, which sparkled with a million stars above the dark town. He shifted his gaze down then, looking around the rooftop. It was flat here, but the shingles were rough and hard.

Before Buffy could say more, he was on his feet and gone, back through the window he’d first come through. She frowned. “You don’t like stars?” she pouted in an uncertain voice, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

After a few moments, she stood up, unsure what to do now. She’d clearly just made a fool of herself, pushed him too far, asked too much. _Stupid Buffy._ She thought she’d made it clear that things had changed ... that _she_ had changed. Did he think she wasn’t sincere, that she was just using him again?

Buffy wrapped her arms around her torso and closed her eyes, pressing all the confusing emotions she’d allowed out back down into their little box. This was for the best, she told herself. Pre-apocalypse sex probably wasn’t a good idea anyway.

She’d just started for the window when Spike reappeared, his arms full of blankets, comforters, pillows, even a thick sleeping bag. Her brows went up. “Oh! Cozy,” she declared, understanding, as she began helping him spread them out.

“Now, where were we?” Spike asked when they’d created a comfy nest of downy softness beneath the glittering sky.

Buffy gave him a slow, welcoming smile as she stepped up to him, lifting onto her toes, pressing her body against his, and capturing his lips in another breathlessly sweet kiss. Spike’s arms snaked around her, pulling her against him. Buffy could feel his eagerness against her stomach and a rush of memories flooded through her. Memories of Spike’s body, of his passion, of his ardent declarations of love that she’d always quickly silenced by giving his mouth something else to do.

He tasted the same – tobacco and whiskey with the coppery tang of blood beneath it all. And yet, everything was different, his kisses were reverent, not frantic, his embrace gentle. And she knew it wasn’t the soul that had changed, it was her. Her words, her actions, allowing him to be who he was. Tears prickled Buffy’s eyes as she realized that as much as he’d always let her be herself, she’d rarely returned the favor ... at least not when it came to intimacy.

Buffy vowed to change that, starting now.

The Slayer’s heart pounded a nervous, excited tattoo against her ribs. She hadn’t done this since she’d walked away from Spike last year. And even then, she’d never done _this_ with Spike. Made love.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” Buffy breathed against his mouth.

“Better than bleedin’ terrified,” Spike murmured back, resting his forehead against hers as she caught her breath.

Buffy gave him a grateful smile – leave it to Spike to understand, to share what she was feeling and validate it.

They began hesitantly. Trembling fingers undid buttons and buckles, revealing quivering skin beneath. Both moved as if it was their first time, relishing each touch, each brush of lips against flesh, each murmur, each gasp, each kiss. Clothes were shed with adoring care. Pale skin met golden in the moonlight, shadow met light, soft curves met chiseled lines. Words of adoration drifted on the night air, sinking into their hearts as never before. They sunk onto the downy covers as one, hands never stilling, lips exploring, breathy sighs punctuating the silent night. They worshiped the other’s body with fingers and mouths, with touches and licks, with whispers and gasps, pouring pleasure over their lover while floating in their own ethereal bliss.

“Spike, please ... now, need you now,” Buffy murmured as she floated down from another trip around the moon. Her legs were trembling with the power of her orgasm, her throat rough from swallowing her own cries of pleasure as she looked down her body at her lover. Spike’s full lips glistened with her juices; his eyes were dark pools of adoration in the dim light. She tugged on Spike’s shoulders in gentle urging as she lay beneath him, pulling him up her body, away from her throbbing core.

Spike came willingly, propping himself above her on strong arms as he slid his cock against her cum-soaked pussy, pumping his hips in that same, slow rhythm he’d been using with his tongue and fingers. His hardness sliding against her sent another prickling burst of electrical shocks skittering over Buffy’s skin, up and down her body until she thought the anticipation would surely kill her.

“Kiss me,” Buffy pleaded, slipping one hand behind Spike’s neck and guiding his lips to hers. New flavors exploded over her tongue as she swept it over his lips and into his mouth. She could taste herself on him, mingling with the essence of Spike, and creating something wholly new and intoxicating. With her free hand, Buffy guided Spike’s cock to her entrance, and he pressed forward slowly, moving as if she were made of fragile china, stretching her and filling her with his girth.

They both gasped into each other’s mouths as the head of his cock slid inside her tight, slick channel.

It was everything Spike remembered and more – something more than heaven, more than hell – something that had no words in any dimension to describe. Nirvana, paradise, ecstasy... all of that and more. A delicious blazing storm of perfect desire and love.

“Buffy,” he moaned against her mouth, his voice hoarse with need. He pulled back so he could see her face as he pressed his cock in further, her supple walls opening for him, then molding around him like a velvet glove as he slid deeper.

“Spike,” she breathed back, feeling that pressure building again deep inside her belly as he sheathed himself inside her, a fluttering of fireflies caught in a raging tornado.

He stopped moving, balls deep inside this glorious force of nature that he loved beyond all reason. Buffy’s slick walls pulsed around him with every frantic beat of her heart, squeezing and releasing of their own accord, and then she did that thing that she knew he loved, clamping down with all those hidden muscles, and Spike’s eyes nearly rolled back in his head from the shear bliss of it. “Fuck, woman ... Christ ... do it again,” he begged.

A smile curved Buffy’s lips and she did as he bid her, once again feeling that freedom he always gave her – freedom to be herself, to never hold anything back. She could let go with Spike like she’d never been able to with anyone else, with no fear, no inhibitions.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispered.

Spike’s eyes shone as her words settled into his heart. She’d never asked that before. Never looked at him like this before, never really seen _him_. Until now. “Just you,” he croaked out in a throaty whisper. “Just you, Buffy.”

Spike pulled back and slowly slid his hardness back into the searing heaven of her channel, his body and heart floating in ecstasy as she responded to his movements, her eyes open, unwaveringly locked on his. Seeing _him_. Being with _him_. Did he dare hope ... _loving_ _him_?

It seemed to last forever, as if in a dream. Their bodies meeting and parting and meeting again until they shuddered in pleasure and drifted back to stillness, tangled together. Long, peaceful moments filled with kisses and caresses, nibbles and breathless whispers followed until the desire was too much and they began again. Each time they danced higher and higher, until the edge of the universe beckoned them and their carnal lust took over. Nibbles became bites, caresses became scratches, whispers became cries for more, harder, faster!

As Spike plunged into her, driving feverishly, breathless words fell from his lips, straight from his heart, “Jesus, Buffy ... what you do to me. Never ... never anyone like you. Only you, pet ... love you, love everything you do to me, everything you are, _fuck ... Jesus_ – _yeah, like that_ – you’re the one, Buffy ... only one ... fucking glorious, is what you are. A goddess. Aphrodite made flesh.”

As Buffy clung to him, getting lost in the building crescendo, she made no effort to silence him. She let his words scatter over her skin like raindrops, full of love and longing, lust and pleasure. Spike’s voice sank into her, melting every defense, dissolving every wall she’d built so carefully over the years. She let her barriers go, let them sink away into the ocean of bliss she was floating in as their bodies found that frantic rhythm they both ultimately craved.

Then Spike’s name was on her lips and she was whispering her own praises and pleasures back to him as they climbed together, up toward the moon and the stars beyond, into the space between the stars where there was nothing but them.

Spike clamped his mouth over hers, muffling her cries as she came apart beneath him yet again, ravenously swallowing her cries as if they were manna from heaven, as if he could live off them for all of eternity. His body knew this dance perfectly, knew just what to do to follow her over the highest ledge, which he could feel growing nearer by the second. She was bloody magnificent when she came, a raging sea of fire that never failed to enthrall him, searing his flesh with wild abandon. Her cunt fluttered and clasped around his length, milking his cock mercilessly with each release.

He held back for a time, keeping her flying, lifting her higher and higher with each thrust into her quivering cunny. He loved watching her face as she came, feeling her body arch beneath him, hearing her heart skip and skitter.

But when Buffy turned her mouth from his and rasped, “Cum in me ... now Spike ... cum with me,” Spike couldn’t hold back another moment. He ground his pubic bone against her clit on every downstroke, sending fountains of colorful fireworks exploding through her, building her up to the highest precipice. “Yes, yes ... Spike, yes ... cumming ... God, yes ... please ... Spike ... cum with me. Now, baby ... now.”

‘ _Baby_.’ He was done. Lost to her. _‘Baby.’_

With one deep thrust and a string of incoherent curses, he let go. His body shuddered against her as he came hard, his seed spilling into her in a seemingly endless barrage of blazing ecstasy. Buffy’s mouth covered his, taking his growling expletives into her lungs, into her blood, into her bones as they quivered and trembled their mutual release, their souls dancing as one, moving from star to star, before floating back to Earth, inexorably entwined.

With a tremulous sigh of wonder and contentment, Spike lowered himself gently onto her, wrapping his arms around Buffy’s shoulders, holding onto her like a life raft in a raging sea. “Love you, love you, love you...” he professed over and over until he ran out of air, his body melting into hers like wax beneath the hot sun.

Buffy hugged him tightly with arms and legs, keeping him from moving, holding his cock, which had barely softened at all, inside her. She kept him prisoner in her embrace, even though he’d never been the one to move first, it had always been her, retreating behind her walls. Now she only wanted him to stay. To hold her and love her forever. To be her rock, that solid stone that would keep her from shattering beneath the weight of the world.

Tears welled in Buffy’s eyes, a flurry of emotions unexpectedly overwhelming her. All the walls Spike had melted with his words were nowhere to be found, leaving her vulnerable and filled with feelings she wasn’t sure what to do with.

It occurred to her that maybe what she’d had with Angel wasn’t the only kind of love there was. That was first love, teenage love, a giddy and reckless love built in a few months upon shifting sand.

But she wasn’t that girl any longer. In a moment of clarity, she realized her love had also changed.

What she was feeling now for this man who’d given so much for her, who’d fought so hard for redemption – it was strong and solid. It was trust and belief and freedom to share everything with someone who understood and accepted her – and who she understood and accepted in return. This feeling she’d been unwilling to name – _it was love_. And it had been built over years, years of ups and downs, of laughter and tears, years of facing down death together, even if sometimes that meant fighting each other. This love wasn’t just built on stone, it had been carved from it with their bare hands – it wouldn’t crumble or splinter with the passing of time or a single misstep.

Buffy loved Spike.

The realization was both surprising and expected, and for once Buffy didn’t fight the revelation. There were no walls left standing to hide it behind, at any rate.

Spike’s face was buried against her neck, his words were whispers now, soft tattoos against her skin, “Love you, love you, Buffy ... Buffy, only you, always you, love you.”

 _‘I love you, too.’_ The words were right there on the tip of her tongue. Buffy just had to say them, let them out. _‘I love you, too.’_ But they wouldn’t come, no matter how she tried, her throat wouldn’t let the words pass. ‘ _He’s not Angel. He’s not Riley. He’s Spike ... just say it!’_ she admonished herself. But her mouth remained stubbornly silent. Buffy settled for hugging him tighter and kissing him – his shoulder, his neck, his cheek, anything she could reach – praying for him to hear the words she couldn’t bring her frightened heart to say.

**** ****

“Buffy,” Giles implored her the next day as they stood at the precipice of the crater that had been Sunnydale. “We must go. The injured need medical care.”

“You go,” she replied, never turning away from the devastation, as silent tears streamed down her cheeks.

“You’re injured as well. Your hands ... your face.”

Buffy looked down at her hands, covered in red, oozing blisters, and everything from the Hellmouth came rushing back to her...

It had been mayhem in the cavern, but Spike had been calm. “Go on, then,” he’d told her, a brilliant light directly from heaven engulfing him in its deadly brilliance.

The amulet had done its job, dusting every Turok-Han in sight. The ground was trembling, shaking with the force of an epic earthquake. The other Slayers were dashing by, scurrying for the exit, as boulders and debris tumbled around them.

“No! No, you’ve done enough!” Buffy had insisted.

“No, you’ve beaten them back. It’s for me to do the cleanup,” he’d retorted unwaveringly.

“No! I need you. I need you with me!” Buffy screeched, reaching for him, intending to pull him with her. Her hand burst into flames as she clamped it over his arm, but she didn’t let go, tugging hard. He barely swayed in place. “Come with me!” she screamed, using both hands, yanking him forward a step, then two as blisters erupted over her skin. The light followed him, the amulet glowing, sending out deadly rays to dust any uber-vamps that ventured near.

“No, Buffy! I’ve got to do this,” he asserted again, prying her hands from his arm, intertwining the fingers of one hand with hers, needing to touch her one last time, despite the fire licking their skin.

“Spike, please,” she begged desperately, reaching her free hand toward the amulet, intent on yanking it off him. But he caught her before she got close, slipping his fingers between hers with that hand, as well.

“You go now, luv. Be with Dawnie, she needs you.”

“But I need _you_ ,” Buffy repeated as tears spilled down her cheeks. “I love you!”

Spike went still as a marble statue for a long moment as the words hit him, flooding through him like a warm breath, like life itself. After a moment he gave her a tender smile even as the ground beneath them began to break apart. When he spoke, his voice was rich and full of crackling emotions, “Love you too, Buffy. More than ... more than life. Always and forever. But I gotta finish this. Promised t’ keep you and the bit safe ... this is how I do it, luv.”

Buffy shook her head, her heart shattering. “Spike...” she muttered miserably. “ _Please_...”

“C’mon, B!” Faith called as she hurried past, scythe in hand, stumbling over the uneven ground as she made her way to the stairs.

Buffy never took her eyes off Spike. The vampire she loved leaned forward and kissed her. More flames erupted from their lips when they met in the purest kiss either had ever felt, like the downy wings of angels whispering over their skin. “Promised your mum, keep Dawn safe. That’s up to you, pet. This bit’s up to me,” he murmured against her mouth. And then he pushed her away, toward the stairs, toward safety. “Now, go!”

“I love you ... I love you, Spike ... God, I love you!” she screamed at him over the cacophony of falling debris, knowing in her bones that she had to go – he’d made sure of that, reminding her of her promise, of Dawn. And she knew he wasn’t coming, that she’d lost him, just like every other man she’d ever loved. It didn’t hurt any less this time, if anything, it was worse because she _knew_ he’d never leave her. She _knew_ it and yet ...

“I love you, too. Now, GO, Slayer!”

With her heart writhing in her chest, Buffy had dragged herself away from her rock, her anchor, the man she loved, leaving him alone with the monsters. It had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Only by sheer force of will did she make it up the stairs, tears blurring her vision as she ran for her life, the Hellmouth collapsing at her heels.

Buffy blinked the memory away and looked back at Giles. “I’m not leaving. He might ... what if he’s ... I can’t leave,” she asserted, her voice cracking with emotion as she wrapped her arms around her torso, trying to hold herself together. “Take them and go.”

Giles sighed and walked back over to the group by the bus. Buffy didn’t turn around, her eyes desperately scanning the crater, hoping beyond hope for some miracle. The Powers had performed them before. Surely for what he’d done, what he’d sacrificed, Spike deserved a saving grace from on high. Buffy heard the bus start up and pull away, she didn’t look away from her buried town until someone slipped her coat over her shoulders.

“Dawnie,” Buffy whispered, slipping the coat on. “You should’ve gone.”

“I’m not hurt ... I’ll stay. Giles will send someone back later.”

“I love him ... it hurts so much,” Buffy confessed, the words tearing pieces from her bleeding heart.

“Giles?” Dawn startled.

“Spike,” Buffy clarified as she slipped her hands into the pockets of her coat. Her fingers met something hard and she pulled it out. Spike’s Zippo. Everything she’d been holding back exploded from Buffy in a tsunami of misery. Her legs gave way and she dropped to her knees, sobbing in painful, wracking wails that shook her body and cracked her heart open that much more.

“Oh, Buffy,” Dawn murmured, kneeling next to her sister, pulling her into her arms. Buffy buried her face in Dawn’s shoulder as she howled her pain into the abyss she’d been cast into.

Dawn didn’t know what to say other than, “I’m sorry.” She repeated that as she held her sister tight beneath the incongruously cheerful sun and watched as the strongest person Dawn knew shattered in her arms.

**** ****

A few hours later, Willow and Xander returned in a rental van. They had food, which Buffy wouldn’t eat, and water, which she finally agreed to drink. Buffy refused to leave, though. She walked the perimeter of the crater as far as she dared in both directions, even scrabbled down into it a couple of times when she thought she caught a glimpse of black leather or peroxide blond hair. It never was Spike, though. Once she saw something glitter in the sun – the amulet! – but after spending twenty minutes getting to it, it turned out to just be a shattered mirror.

When it became clear Buffy wasn’t leaving, Xander drove back to the nearest town and got more supplies. That night, Dawn and Willow slept in the van, cuddled under sleeping bags for warmth, while Xander kept a fire stoked through the night so Buffy could warm herself each time she returned from her searches.

After dark there were strange, ethereal lights in the rubble. At first, Buffy thought (Hoped! Prayed!) that they were a clue sent by the Powers, something that would lead her to Spike now that the sun was down. But they ended up just being scattered and random, and very un-supernatural things – battery-operated clocks or other devices still trying to function. And in the silent night she could hear the discordant cacophony of alarms going off – smoke detectors, car alarms, burglar alarms – none of them realizing that it was too little, too late. 

Too little, too late. Everything she was doing was too little, too late, but she refused to give up. Spike wouldn’t leave her – not if he could help it. And she wouldn’t leave him, not if there was a single scrap of hope that he was here, that he needed her. She wouldn’t abandon him.

“Buffy, I know you’re never-give-up girl, but from what Faith said, I’m not sure even Spike could survive that,” Xander had said on one of her returns to the fire. If looks could’ve immolated, Xander would’ve been a lump of coal on the desert sand. He didn’t say anything more on the subject after that.

By the fourth day Buffy conceded defeat and, with a leaden heart, she finally let her friends and her sister take her away. As she watched the crater fade from view, she realized she had nothing to show for those seven years except the clothes on her back, Spike’s Zippo, and an utterly defeated heart. 

**** ****

**Five-ish Months Later....**

“Andrew, you jerk! You didn’t leave me a single clean towel! How does someone so small need so many damn towels? And, hello! Ever heard of _washing them_?” Dawn complained, coming out of her room when she heard the door to their apartment in Rome open.

“Not guilty.”

“Buffy!” Dawn exclaimed, dashing across the room and throwing herself into her sister’s arms. “You’re back! Where’ve you been!? I thought you’d be back _weeks_ ago.”

Buffy caught her sister, only taking a small step back as the larger girl’s weight hit her. “Sorry, there was a nest of Grox'lar demons eating babies in Moscow, then one of those time-shifty Rwasundi demons in Budapest, and a dragony demon in Taipei ... or Taiwan ... or maybe it was Pompeii,” the blonde explained tiredly.

“Pretty sure it wasn’t Pompeii,” Dawn chided, pulling back from the hug. “That’s in Italy, you know ... like, right here.”

Buffy shrugged. “One of the others then.”

Dawn’s elation faded as she took in her sister’s appearance. There were dark circles under Buffy’s eyes, her skin was ashen, and her blonde hair was cut in a super-short pixie and was matted to her scalp with sweat and dirt and other things Dawn didn’t want to consider. Add to that the long, red cut that ran down her cheek from eye to jawline, and the thinness of her frame, and Buffy barely resembled the woman that had lived in Sunnydale. Her clothes were hanging off her – clothes that had fit her fine when they’d first moved to Rome. Not that Buffy had spent much time in the apartment they shared with Andrew. She always seemed to be off slaying.

“What happened there?” Dawn wondered, reaching out to touch the still-angry slash.

Buffy’s brows furrowed, touching it herself. “Uh ... something cut me.”

“Well, duh,” Dawn replied drily. “What?”

“Something with claws, I think. It might’ve been a Grox'lar.” Buffy waved it off. Who knew? Who cared?

The brunette frowned worriedly. “You know, there’s a whole army of Slayers now,” Dawn reminded her. “You don’t have to do all the slayage anymore. Maybe you should give someone else a chance to play with your toy,” the girl suggested, looking down at the red and silver scythe that rested atop Buffy’s duffel bag.

Buffy shrugged. “What else am I supposed to do? You’re in school most of the time and doing Watchery-stuff the rest of the time. Not like we can just hang. A girl needs a hobby.”

“You could, you know, _date_ ...?” Dawn suggested.

Buffy snorted. “Yeah, that always ends well,” she muttered, running a hand back through her dirty hair, making it stand out at odd angles.

Dawn sighed. “There’s a Halloween party Friday. You could come ... it’ll be fun. You remember fun, right? Music, dancing, eating ... seeing of other people, _eating_?”

“Maybe,” Buffy hedged, heading for the kitchen. “Do we have any Tab?”

“Yeah, Willow brought some last time she teleported in,” Dawn answered, following her. “You know, that stuff causes cancer,” she warned.

“Which is not even in the top twenty ways for a Slayer to die,” Buffy reminded her flippantly. “I think it comes after ‘falling from a hot air balloon over the Alps while wrestling a Spanish Mist Fiend in a bikini.’”

“Can Mist Fiends even wear bikinis?”

Buffy gave her a withering look.

Dawn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, if you’re gonna be here more than a minute, maybe you could go through your mail. It’s starting to become a fire hazard. We’ve gotten a citation and everything. Think of it as a Papyrus demon that needs slaying – very nasty. Beware of papercuts.”

Buffy matched her sister’s eye roll as she got a soda from the fridge. “I’ll make it my next mission,” she promised, sighing in pleasure as she took a sip of the saccharine-laced, caramel-colored, possibly-cancer-causing, carbonated liquid.

“Right after a shower?” Dawn suggested, wrinkling her nose.

Buffy looked down at herself and gave another noncommittal shrug. “Sure. Shower then paper demon. Just need an IRS audit to make today a total funfest.”

A couple of hours later, Dawn heard the door open and close again. She emerged into the living room to find the remains of countless Papyrus demons strewn across the floor. Their colorful, junk-mail guts had been savagely torn from their business-like envelope bodies. What was conspicuously missing was the Slayer, along with her duffel and the scythe. Dawn sighed and began cleaning up the mess, wishing there was something – _anything_ – she could do to get her sister back. The sister she remembered – the one that existed before her heart had been ripped out and buried alive in the Hellmouth.

**** ****

“Sodding Halloween,” Spike grumbled as he walked along his usual route, down one dark, L.A. alley after another. Had to do something to get away from those pillocks at Wolfram & Hart. Since he couldn’t actually do anything productive, he walked and hoped for salvation from this existence. “No self-respecting demon has a bleedin’ party on Halloween. And the Jolly Green Giant thinking I’d stay for it – _pfft_!”

He came upon a Coke can in the street, concentrating hard he kicked at it. Since his encounter with Pavane, he’d been getting better at moving things in his ghostly-form – he just had to concentrate and want it badly enough to make things happen. But his foot just sailed through the can, not even stirring the air.

“Sod it,” he muttered, clenching his jaw, and shoving his hands into the pockets of his duster. He knew why he couldn’t focus. He’d told himself that if she didn’t show by today – a full five months and some odd days (five months, ten days, fourteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes – but who was counting?), he’d give up. He wouldn’t come this way again. He wouldn’t wait for her. He wouldn’t look for her. He wouldn’t beg, cajole, or charm Fred into calling her number again. He didn’t know what he’d done to brass the Slayer off ... well, other than turn her town into a sinkhole and break his promise by leaving her. But he hadn’t had any choice, had he? You’d think the stubborn bint could cut a bloke that saved the sodding world some slack. But apparently not.

Spike tasted the beginnings of tears at the back of his throat and swallowed them down. He wasn’t gonna cry. Not out here on the sodding street in front of God and everybody. Not again.

Spike had shamed Angel into calling Buffy only a few minutes after he’d emerged, screaming in agony, from the amulet. It had been a full nineteen days since Sunnydale had collapsed when Spike had been reconstituted – so to speak – in L.A., and Angel said Buffy had gone to Europe. Didn’t matter, Spike had her cell number – certainly she’d still have that. But Buffy hadn’t answered that first time when Angel called, or any of the other 947 times after that. She also had never shown up or called back. Angel insisted he didn’t have any other number or an exact location for her or Giles. Spike angrily pointed out that if Angel _really_ wanted to find Buffy, that he _could_ find her. He had the vast and unethical resources of W&H at his disposal. Angel, however, refused to budge on his stance of willful ignorance. Fucking selfish bastard.

Predictably, Spike had tried to find Buffy himself when the calls went unanswered. Europe was a vague starting point, but it would be hard to hide a whole bevy of newly minted Slayers from the demon world. He’d just use the skills he’d honed over decades of hunting Slayers to track her down.

Only problem was – in his ghostly form – he couldn’t leave L.A. His only hope was that she’d come here. Come back to him. But that hadn’t happened either.

Spike bit back another wave of bitter tears that threatened to fall as he continued walking along the deserted street, shoulders hunched, head bowed. He’d believed her when she’d said it. He’d felt it that night on the roof as she held him and kissed him and made love to him. Felt it in his bones – her love. And when she finally said the very words he’d dreamed of, they’d gone straight to his hopeful, romantic heart, and filled William’s soul with a thousand lines of bad poetry. How could he have been so sodding wrong? Such a bloody fool?

“Spike! Hey, Spike!” came an overexcited cry from down the street. “Guess what! You’ll never guess! Hey, Spike! Guess! Guess! You’ll never guess!”

Spike rolled his eyes and looked up at the kid bounding pell-mell toward him. Well, not a kid exactly, a ghost of a kid. He’d met the boy a while back, and the little sprite had latched onto him like a leech to his balls, like in that movie ... What the hell was the name of it...?

“Don’t have time for your games t’day, Chester,” Spike dismissed as he continued walking.

“Spike! Guess! Bet you’ll never guess!” the boy repeated as he bounced around Spike like a rubber ball. “Just guess! C’mon, Spike!” he continued, his ghostly form practically glowing with excitement.

Spike came to a stop as he rolled his eyes and sighed. “The Sun just reported that the Queen likes it up the bum?”

“Nope! Told you you’d never guess!” The boy (whose name was _not_ Chester, but who had stopped correcting Spike some months ago) beamed a gap-toothed smile at Spike. “What you told me to watch for?! Remember? Do ya remember?” he yammered feverishly. “Been watching, like ya said! And there’s someone there! A kid, looks like, a boy, trying to get in! Told you you’d never guess!”

Spike froze. Hope, pure and euphoric, washed through him. _‘Someone’s there.’_ But then the rest of the words registered, and that elation was replaced by a black, burning fury. A kid, a boy, was sniffing around. Not Buffy, then. Spike was in no mood for bollocks like this tonight. Someone was in for the fright of their life. “Show me.”

**** ****

Chester was right. The bright-as-day illumination of the parking area revealed a short, slight human in loose-fitting clothes, including a hoodie pulled up over their head, prowling around the area Spike had been having the lad watch all these months. The hooded figure had already climbed the tall, chain-link fence and appeared just about to do some damage ... a little B&E for Halloween, it seemed.

 _‘Not bloody likely.’_ Spike set his jaw and strode toward the rapscallion. He couldn’t hurt him – well, not without a metric fuck-ton of concentration, which Spike didn’t possess just now – but he could scare the bejesus outta the miscreant.

Spike walked through the fence, through a small Honda and an old VW Bug, and right up behind Oliver Twist, who was bending over the door of the next car parked in the line, as if trying to pick the lock.

“BOO!” Spike yelled, his mouth down near the kid’s ear.

The thief spun, bringing an elbow up in an arc toward Spike’s chin. Spike chuckled when the elbow sailed through him harmlessly. “Ya missed,” he chided, taking a step back as the boy whirled the rest of the way around.

“Yeah, well this won’t,” the hooligan declared in a rough voice as a shiny weapon suddenly whistled through the air toward Spike.

Spike’s senses as a ghost were less than stellar, certainly not up to his vampire senses, but he could feel something different about the blade coming at his chest. A powerful energy that had him leaping back into the VW Bug behind him, out of the weapon’s path.

The blade missed Spike on the first pass, but the kid had twirled it expertly and was already swinging again. The windows of the vintage VW shattered when the axe collided with the passenger’s side of the car.

“Oi!” Spike protested as the hooded figure advanced, leaping up onto the roof of the small car, preparing to bring the blade down on Spike’s head. He backed up again, moving out of the VW and into the Honda, then back until he was near the chain-link fence. “Oi! Let off!” he demanded as the small figure leapt to the roof of the next car, the axe raised again. No, not an axe. A scythe. A very familiar scythe. Red and sliver and shining as if with an inner light.

This ‘kid’ was a Slayer.

“What the sodding hell!?” Spike demanded. “On the same side, you and me!”

And then the hood fell away from her face.

Their eyes met.

Spike gasped. If he’d had a heartbeat, it would’ve stopped.

Buffy’s pale face hardened into a mask of fury, her eyes turning to pools of green, vitriolic acid. “You have no right to wear that face!” she roared, raising the scythe again, preparing to leap down onto the apparition. “He won! He sent you back to hell! Get out of his face!” the Slayer screamed before she dove from the roof of the car straight down toward Spike.

Spike jumped back, slipping to the other side of the fence, and the scythe sparked as it sliced through the thick wire.

“Buffy?” he began as she raised the weapon again, clearly intending to cut through the fence to get to him. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “Buffy! It’s me!”

“I’ve had enough of your games! You need to go back where you came from!” the Slayer declared, raising the weapon again. “And I have just the thing to send you there! Got a little extra mojo installed just for ghosty monsters like you,” she informed the apparition, shaking the scythe for emphasis. “Now. Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. That. Face!” she commanded, punctuating each word with another swipe of the weapon at the fence, sending a blaze of sparks cascading from the contact.

“Buffy! Slayer! It’s me! Bloody hell!”

The fence was glowing as if a blowtorch had just finished being all blowtorch-y with it. Bits of it dangled like cut strings, other sections sagged, no longer connected to its supports. Buffy stood there, glaring at him and seething. Her chest was rising and falling as if she’d run a marathon, the scythe gripped tightly in her right hand.

Willow had figured out a spell to add a twist to the scythe, making it, if not deadly to ghosts and other incorporeal beings, at least very painful. The problem with these damn apparitions was if Buffy went over where it was, it would just slip right back over here and it would turn into a big game of Ring Around the Rosie. It was annoying as fuck and she was at the very limit of her annoy-o-meter. One more drop and she’d fall over the edge. She wasn’t sure what was there, but she was incredibly sure she didn’t want to find out.

Why did he have to wear _that_ face? Of all the faces ... why _Spike_?

Suddenly tears filled her green eyes, making them glimmer like emeralds in the bright security lights. “Please just leave me alone ... _please_ ... you’re supposed to be gone ... why can’t you just be gone?”

Spike stiffened, his heart cracking open, hemorrhaging as if she’d sliced it to shreds with her scythe. “That why you finally said it, then? Didn’t reckon I’d do a Patrick Swayze, eh? Figured I’d shuffle off good and proper? That why you ... on the roof ... why you...?” He stopped and cleared his throat, unable to say, ‘made love’ and unwilling to say, ‘fucked me’. “Just throwing yer pet vamp a bone, that it? Good dog – go burn now. Though I guess technically, I threw you the bone, didn’t I? Or not so much ‘threw’ it as—”

It was Buffy’s turn to blink. “Spike?”

Spike snorted derisively. “Who the bloody else do you reckon—” he started angrily, but then it hit him. The First could be any dead person. Was The First still hanging about? He had no idea. Spike’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “Buffy, luv ... it’s me. Or ... what’s left o’ me.”

“Spike?” she repeated, shaking her head, trying to clear the confusion that was tipping her world on end and spilling her sanity onto the parquet.

“It’s me, Buffy,” he assured her gently, taking a step forward, passing through the shredded fence that separated them.

The tears that had been quivering on Buffy’s lashes fell, leaving glistening streaks down her cheeks. “Spike? How?”

“Hi, honey, I’m home,” he tried, opening his arms wide, and giving her a hopeful look, his blue eyes pleading with her to see that it was really him.

“Spike!” Buffy exclaimed as the scythe slipped from her fingers and she threw herself at him.

The Slayer hit Spike with the force of a hurricane, knocking the ghost back a step before he caught his balance and his arms closed around her in a fierce, all-engulfing hug.

If he wanted it badly enough, he could touch the world, and right now his will was screaming at him to touch _her_. He’d never wanted anything more. Spike’s entire body solidified the moment she’d launched herself at him.

Spike buried his face in the crook of her neck and began to sob. “Buffy, God, Buffy ... didn’t think ... so long ... waited ...”

“How, where ... how ... Spike?” Buffy rambled over him, clutching him to her, afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

“Love you so much,” he murmured against her skin.

“Missed you ... Spike, how?”

Their words flowed over each other, mixing and mingling in a murmuring chorus of relief and shock, joy and love. Spike remained solid under her touch, his arms a band of iron around her slight form. It was what he’d been dreaming of for months now, to see her again, to be in her arms, to just hear her voice.

“Spike, my God, where have you been?” Buffy asked finally.

“Been here, called you ... been waiting for you.”

Buffy loosened her grip on him, pulling back to look into his eyes. Those eyes she’d dreamed of so many nights. “You’re ... a ghost?” she wondered, reaching up to touch his face. Her hand slipped through him for a moment before he solidified again beneath her touch.

“Close enough,” he agreed, concentrating on his hand and placing it over hers where it rested on his cheek. She was so bloody warm. So alive. So perfect. “New ‘do. Very fetching.”

Buffy reached up self-consciously and touched her short hair. “You’re such a liar,” she accused, but she was smiling.

Spike’s eyes glittered, shining with tears of joy as he shook his head. “Not lying. You’re a sight for sore eyes, pet. My golden goddess. Never been more beautiful.”

“Does being a ghost make you blind, too?” she scoffed with an eyeroll. “What’s ...? I just got your letter two days ago ... I ...” She turned back toward the DeSoto that was parked next to the VW. “You said you left something in the car for me. I didn’t know it was _you_!”

Spike shook his head, carefully taking her hand in his and touching a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “Wasn’t. Sent that before ... before the Hellmouth, luv. Reckon with the whole town gone, it took a while to find you across the pond. Didn’t know I’d be here, as well, figured I’d be blowing in the wind.”

Buffy shook her head again, trying to get the confusing ducks that kept waddling off to fall into a row that made sense. “I don’t understand. What’s going on? You said you called? I never got any calls.”

“Your mobile ... called a thousand bloody times.”

Buffy frowned and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “What number did you call?”

“The one you had in Sunnyhell. What other number would I have, pet?”

The Slayer’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “That one’s at the bottom of the crater somewhere. I had to get a new one.”

“It’s still working,” Spike pointed out. “No voicemail set up on it, though.”

Buffy shrugged. “There’s been a slight lack of organization with the whole transplanting to Europe thing. Someone’s probably still paying the bill.” The Slayer kept shaking her head. “I still don’t understand. What the hell is going on? How long have you been in L.A.? _Why_ the hell are you in _L.A._? Why didn’t you come find me? How am I touching you? How did your car get here?”

“Easiest first – Clem’s cousin drove it down when everyone was buggering outta Dodge. Sent a few things o’ mine along with him, things I thought you might have use for if I—”

“Died?” Buffy filled in, her voice rough with emotion.

Spike bit his lip, his head tilting, really taking her in for the first time. She looked haunted. He had a feeling he was the ghost doing the haunting. “Didn’t mean to, pet. Didn’t want to leave you. Gotta know that. Love you so bloody much, Buffy. Been trying to find you all this time.”

“Knowing that doesn’t make it any easier,” she whispered, dropping her gaze to their clasped hands. “I can only have my heart ripped out so many times before it turns to stone and crumbles to dust.”

Spike swallowed hard, his own heart splintering. Had _he_ turned her heart to stone? After only just being able to touch it, had he turned it to dust in her chest? “Does that mean ... What does that mean?”

Buffy was blinking back tears again as she lifted her eyes to meet his. “It means, you stupid vampire, that if you ever do anything like that again, I’ll fucking follow you across the River Styx and kick your lily-white ass all the way back here.”

Spike felt a wave of relief wash through him and he squeezed her hand even tighter. “Seems fair.”

“I love you, Spike,” Buffy murmured, leaning in to touch a gentle kiss to his lips.

It was everything Spike remembered and more. It was fire and rain, sunshine and strawberries. It was the world slipping back into orbit after spinning out of control for too long.

“Love you too, Buffy,” he sighed against her mouth.

She could tell – kissing him – this wasn’t her Spike, not fully. He was a pale shadow of the vampire she knew. But it was something – it was so much more than she’d had only minutes ago, and they’d fix it. Somehow, they’d fix it. Buffy pulled back slowly, her face set in Slayer-y determination. “Now – ‘splainy!”

Spike nodded. “May want to sit for this, pet,” he suggested, waving a hand at the DeSoto.

Buffy leaned down to pick up her scythe and they headed for the behemoth of a car.

“You thought I was The First,” Spike posited as they walked.

Buffy nodded.

“How did ya figure out I wasn’t?” he wondered as they reached the driver’s door. Buffy’s duffel was on the ground next to it and the car keys Spike had mailed her were laying where she’d dropped them next to it.

She set the scythe down and bent to pick them up. “Only _you_ could get _that_ defensive and irrational. Assuming I’d just been ... ‘throwing you a bone,’” Buffy scoffed with an eye roll as she found the key and slipped it into the lock. “And then go and make with the pigginess, talking about boning me.”

Spike snorted, ducking his head and rubbing his free hand along the back of his neck diffidently. “Guess you know me pretty well, eh?”

Buffy gave him a wan smile. “I guess I do. Well, except for the ghost part ... so, spill, Casper,” she demanded, pulling her hand from his so she could slide into the car and into the passenger’s seat.

Spike followed her, settling behind the wheel. Buffy reached over to take his hand again. Her fingers slipped through a moment before Spike focused and his flesh solidified beneath her touch as he began to explain, “Right, it’s like this ...”

**** ****

The whispers that followed them through the halls of Wolfram & Hart weren’t subtle. Most were just one hissed word: “Slayer.”

As they exited the elevator, Spike pointed out Angel’s office to Buffy and sauntered along behind her as she stormed through the lobby in full Slayer-mode, scythe in hand.

“Excuse me! Angel’s in a meeting! Do you have an appointment?”

Buffy drew up short as a blonde stepped out from behind a reception desk and into her path. “Harmony?!”

“ _Slayer_. Love what you’ve done with your hair,” Harmony sneered, curling her lip up in disgust.

“What the hell are you—” Buffy began, but Spike answered before she finished, “Angel’s secretary.”

“Excuse me! _Executive Assistant!”_ Harmony insisted, stomping a foot down petulantly.

“Evil?” Buffy asked Spike, hefting the scythe a little higher.

He shrugged from behind her and to her left. “Not so’s you’d notice. Just ... well, Harmony.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and pushed past the vampire blocking her path.

“Hey! You can’t go in there!” Harmony called after them.

“Watch me,” Buffy retorted as she lifted her booted foot and slammed it into the closed double doors. They splintered, tearing from their hinges as they swung inwards rather than the way they customarily opened, leaving them hanging drunkenly from the jamb.

Buffy looked around to find something to kill, but the only demon she saw was apparently asleep on the couch by the windows.

“I thought I was gonna be able to kill more things in here,” she pouted, looking around the room at all the shocked eyes trained on her. There was a thin brunette girl with guileless eyes. From Spike’s tale, Buffy guessed that was Fred. A tall black man in a sharp suit – Gunn. The sleeping green demon. Oh, yeah, Spike had mentioned him – Lorne. And one she actually recognized – Wesley. Wow, he’d changed. But, then again, hadn’t they all?

“Buffy?”

Buffy turned her attention to the tall, dark, and broody vampire standing behind the desk.

“Now, him, you can kill,” Spike offered.

Buffy’s lips thinned into an angry line. “What the hell, Angel?!” she demanded, stalking up to his desk.

“You cut your hair!” Angel blurted out, a clear look of shocked disapproval on his face.

“And you’ve gained weight. Now that we have that out of the way, you want to tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

“It’s good to see you, too,” he snarked back insolently.

“Don’t give me that crap! Spike’s been here for months and you didn’t think I needed to know!?”

“We called you!” he defended.

“Oh, please! I know perfectly well that Giles gave you the number of the new Council!”

“Oh, ho! Knew you were a lying sack—” Spike began, moving up to stand near Buffy.

“Shut up, Spike,” Angel growled.

“Don’t tell him to shut up! You deliberately kept him from me! So, I ask again, what the hell?” Buffy demanded.

“I was giving you time to ... bake,” the big vampire defended petulantly.

“What the bleedin’ hell does that mean?”

No one answered Spike’s question. Buffy addressed Angel, “I’m baked. I’m done. I’m cookies.”

“And Spike’s the Cookie Monster?” Angel asked incredulously, coming around from behind the desk finally to stand toe to toe with her. “He’s a ghost, Buffy! He can’t eat your sweet, delicious ...” He spluttered to a stop a moment and started again. “What are you gonna do with a ghost for a... a...?”

“Lover? Boyfriend? Ally?” Buffy filled in.

Angel cleared his throat, folding his arms over his chest. “You said he wasn’t ...”

“I was wrong,” Buffy admitted, her voice softening slightly. “I wasn’t ready to admit it then.”

“But you are now? You’ve only baked for five months!” Angel pointed out. “What happened to ‘it might be a while?’”

“A lot can happen in five months,” the Slayer asserted. “When someone dies for you ... sacrifices themselves for your family, for the world, it gives you a lot to think about. But then they’re gone and all the thinking in the world can’t bring them back. And you realize how ... how fear made you deny what you were feeling, but it was too late to do anything about it because of the gone-ness. All that makes five months seem like five centuries.”

“I died for the world,” Angel pouted.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You were the one that tried to end the world,” she reminded him. “And I was the one that did the sacrificing – you were just the sacraficee.”

“Helped with that one too, I did,” Spike smirked, rolling up onto the balls of his feet, his thumbs tucked over his belt buckle.

Angel sighed, his expression dour. Ignoring Spike, he addressed Buffy, “What do you want?”

“Fred. Willow’s coming in soon. She’s been doing a lot of work on noncorporal-ness since The First. She thinks she can fix Spike, but she wants to talk to Fred about what’s up.”

Angel nodded. “Fine,” he grumbled.

“And the amulet,” Buffy added, holding out her hand toward him. “Willow thought she could use it to reverse-engineer whatever magic was used to put Spike in it.”

“Our mystics have already attempted to do that,” Wes offered.

Without warning, Buffy jabbed Spike in the ribs with the stake-end of the scythe, just hard enough to make her point.

“Oi! Watch it with that thing, Slayer!” he complained, jumping back and rubbing his side. “Sodding dangerous, that is!”

“Can your mystics do that?” Buffy challenged, arching a brow at the ex-Watcher.

Wes looked confused, impressed, and chagrined all at once. “Uh, no ... we were never able to ....” His voice trailed off as he refocused. “What in the world is that weapon?”

Buffy smiled sweetly. “Mine,” she informed him before looking back at Angel. “Amulet?” she reminded him, holding her hand out again.

Angel went back around behind the desk and opened one of the drawers, pulling the amulet out. He held it out to her, wondering what would’ve happened if he’d worn it. Would he be the one about to eat sweet, warm, Buffy cookies instead of the blond pest? He looked like he’d just swallowed a whole lemon laced with razorblades as he handed Buffy the necklace.

“Anything else?” he wondered.

“That should do it,” Buffy chirped before she spun and headed for the broken doors. “C’mon, Spike ... Fred. We’ve got some ghost-busting to do.”

“He’s not a ghost, technically,” Fred began as she hurried after the Slayer. “He’s more of a common spectral disturbance. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like him.”

Buffy snorted. “Me either.”

**** ****

“I had to extrapolate a new variation on interdimensional plasma dynamics on the fly. Of course, it took the equivalent of nuclear evil to pull off, even using the Asgardel runes and Pantheonian bridge plates,” Fred was explaining to Willow as the two women bent over one of the work benches in Fred’s lab later.

“That’s amazing! Where did you find the Pantheonian plates? I thought those were lost eons ago?” Willow wondered. 

Fred shrugged, giving Willow a small smile. “They were lost to Wolfram & Hart’s vault. But now they’re really lost, as in, they were scorched to smithereens when Pavane stepped into the circle.”

“Didn’t step – was pushed,” Spike corrected from where he leaned against another bench a few feet away. “By yours truly. What I get for doin’ the right bloody thing,” he muttered bitterly.

“Still, that’s really impressive,” Willow told Fred. “Did you consider using Azshara stones? Those might’ve been more stable...”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Buffy groaned as she wandered aimlessly around the lab, picking things up and putting them down again. Occasionally, Fred would tell her to be careful with whatever she had in her hand, tossing out some dire warning about melting half of L.A. – so far thinking about that had been the highlight of the last hour for Buffy. “How much longer is this gonna take?” she asked the two geeks.

Willow looked up, giving Buffy an apologetic shrug. “I just want to make sure I corporealize him and not, you know, ‘poof’ him into nonexistence.”

“Yeah, I vote for that – the first one,” Spike agreed.

“Fine – but how long?” Buffy asked again.

“Another hour maybe?” the red witch guessed. “Why don’t you go get something to eat while we work?”

“Why is everyone trying to get me to eat?” Buffy grumbled as she stuffed her hands down into the pockets of her hoodie.

“Cos you’re a mite thin, pet,” Spike suggested gently. “Could do with a burger or two on your bones ... or one o’ those blooming onions. Did ya know they have them at a place called ‘Outback’ now?”

Buffy sighed and looked down at herself just as her hand touched the paper that had been folded up in her pocket, tucked in next to the Zippo. She pulled the paper out. It was the letter that Spike had sent her months ago. It had traveled through four countries, survived several re-directs, and made it through multiple forwardings to finally find her in Rome. She knew it by heart...

-x-

_Hello, Cutie,_

_If you’re reading this and I’m not standing over your shoulder, then I know it’s because I’m dust, I’d be there with you otherwise. Never leave you willingly. Hope you know that in your heart, Buffy. I love you. Can’t say it enough. I love you with everything I am, with my heart and my hard-won soul. Please never doubt that. Never doubt what you are to me. It’s because of you that I’ve become a Champion. Your word, pet, not mine. Know I’m still a monster, but I’ve become more of a man than I ever was in life. Because of you. It will always and forever be about you, Buffy._

_Got some things tucked away in case things go tits up. Things I thought you’d need, that could do you some good. Sent them off with Clem’s cousin, Shadrack. They’re in the boot of the DeSoto behind a hidden door at the back of it. There’s a key to it on the enclosed ring. He’s to park it in a long-term lot called ‘Parks-a-Lot’ in L.A. Sure you can find it, yeah? Gave him enough dosh to keep it there a good while, but best to be speedy about retrieving it, luv._

_Use what you find in there for yourself and Dawnie. It’s not evil. No blood was shed for it. I promised ‘til the end of the world, luv. If I’m not there to keep that promise, then let me do this, at least. Let me help you one last time. Let me show you my love from beyond the grave, because loving you is all I want to do for all eternity._

_Hope when you think of me it’s with fondness and not bitterness. I did my best – always. I loved you the best I could. Know sometimes it wasn’t enough, but I tried, pet, I tried._

_Live your life on your own terms and be happy, Buffy. It’s all I want for you – to be happy._

_With all my love,_

_William_

-x-

Buffy snatched up her scythe and her duffel bag from where she’d set them down and started for the door. “Call me when you’re ready. We’re gonna get some fresh air. C’mon, Spike.”

**** ****

“What’re we doing, luv?” Spike wondered as he followed along behind the Slayer, who was striding purposely through Wolfram & Hart’s parking garage. “Know I’m no expert of late, but doesn’t seem like a lot of fresh air here.”

“I got so distracted with you showing up and all the ghostiness, that I totally forgot about why you sent me the letter in the first place,” Buffy explained as she got to the DeSoto. She pulled the keys from her pocket and unlocked the trunk.

Buffy set the scythe and bag down on the ground, then leaned into the huge trunk, over the spare tire, and started feeling around for the lock that kept the hidden door closed. “To the right, pet,” Spike instructed. “And up at the top. Hidden from prying eyes.”

Buffy found it and slipped the key into the lock. When it turned, a partition that matched the inside of the trunk perfectly, fell open on silent hinges, revealing a space big enough to cram a body into behind it. Thankfully, there were no bodies. There were three large, black duffel bags.

She pulled one to the edge of the trunk where she could see from the overhead lights and unzipped it. The first thing she saw was a large, leatherbound book. She frowned and picked it up.

“Uh, might want to ... not ...” Spike stammered, concentrating hard so he could touch her shoulder, stilling her.

“Why? What is it?” she wondered, looking at him.

“My journal,” he admitted. “I would’a gotten that outta there before you saw it ... you know, if I’d been a bit more solid-state.”

“Oh.” Buffy looked at it a moment. Part of her longed to open it, to read it from front to back, but another part of her could feel his discomfort. He’d meant for her to read it only if he’d been dead ... deader. She nodded and set it down. The rest of that bag had been filled with more of Spike’s personal effects. Lots of little knickknacks that clearly had meaning to him, an old silver brush and hand mirror set, several pieces of clunky, silver jewelry that she’d nearly forgotten he used to wear, several old, faded concert ticket stubs. There was an incredibly old photograph of a boy and his parents that she assumed was Spike ... William as a child, and a couple of other photos of just the parents. She smiled nostalgically when she picked up the skull ring that he’d used to propose to her during Willow’s botched ‘will be done’ spell. So much water had flowed under their bridge. Still, it seemed like a meager collection for a lifetime that spanned over a century.

The next box held some things of Dru’s – jeweled hair combs, a ruby necklace, a pair of black lace gloves, a few pencil drawings of Spike and Dru, and some photos from one of those photobooth thingies. There was even one of those creepy dolls. Buffy felt an irrational jolt of jealousy stab through her, but tamped it down. He’d not left his possessions for Dru, after all.

Buffy took a deep breath and pressed on. She turned an inquiring gaze on Spike when she came to a box that held things of hers. Mr. Gordo was in there, which made her heart swell, she’d thought she’d lost him forever. In with him was the stake she used to keep under her pillow, and even one of the boyband posters from her room, folded neatly. There were also quite a few photos of her, her mom, and Dawn. They were recognizable as coming from her house – photos that used to hang in the hallway or around the mirror in her room.

Spike looked abashed. “If you didn’t make it, and I did ... wanted something ... something to have of you.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have any of my underwear,” Buffy muttered, putting the photos back in the box.

Spike cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Might want t’ just move on to the other bags, pet.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, not opening the last box on the bottom.

The next bag was heavy, even for her. When she unzipped it, she was met with a blaze of sparkling color winking up at her. She reached in and pulled out a beautiful diamond and ruby broach. There was a myriad of necklaces and tiaras, bracelets, and rings, even small weapons with jewels set into the hilts. It was all incredibly old and clearly real, a fortune in precious gems.

“I thought you said none of this was bought in blood,” Buffy reminded. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t just find this while strolling down the street.”

“Matter of fact,” he began, but at her withering look he sighed. “Worked for it, didn’t I? Earned it fair and square.”

Buffy arched a dubious brow.

“Remember the Gem of Amara? Was in a lost tomb, yeah? Filled with ...” he waved a hand at the bag. “Was just goin’ to waste down there. I found it, tunneled into it, was the one with sodding sand in every orifice for weeks. Rightfully mine,” Spike argued.

“I must’ve missed the day we covered the ‘Finders Keepers, Losers Weepers’ Amendment in Civics class,” Buffy commented.

Spike let out an exasperated breath. “No one is gonna miss it, pet. No one’s come looking for it. Think what you could do with that. What you could do for _Dawnie_. Could go back to uni. The bit could go wherever she liked – Oxford, Cambridge, Florida State. Not cheap, that. Who better to have it than you?”

Buffy sighed and looked back at the sparkling gemstones. “Is this what you meant that time when you said you could get money? When I was at the Doublemeat Palace?” she wondered, looking back at him.

Spike bit his lip and shrugged. “Partly, yeah.”

“Spike, you lived like Little Orphan Annie when you were really Daddy Starbucks,” Buffy exclaimed in confusion.

“The king o’ overpriced coffee?” he wondered.

Buffy huffed and rolled her eyes. “Why?”

Spike bobbed his head in a semi-shrug. “Was more fun.”

Buffy barked out a laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Only you would think living in a musty crypt and conning us out of money and blood was more fun that staying at the Beverly Wilshire.”

Spike smirked. “Did ya ever notice how Rupert’s left eye would twitch when he had t’ pay me for somethin’? Was bloody hysterical! Thought he was gonna have a coronary doling out the dosh after he came over all Fyarl that time.”

Buffy chuckled, still shaking her head as she zipped up the bag.

“So, you’ll keep it?” Spike wondered, sobering.

She shrugged. “Sandy orifices paid for it, right?”

Spike beamed. “Too right.”

Buffy pulled out the last bag. It was heavy, but not as heavy as the jewels. Inside it was cash. Stacks and stacks of crisp, new hundred-dollar bills. “Spike! What? Did you tunnel into a bank, too?” she asked in a hushed voice, looking around to make sure no one was listening.

“Don’t be daft. It’s mine,” he explained. “Whaddya reckon happens to a vamp’s dosh when they’re turned?”

“Never really thought about it.”

“Didn’t have a family to look after,” he explained. “Mum was ... well, told ya about that,” he admitted, ducking his head, glancing up at her through his thick lashes.

“You had this much money? Back in the olden days before sports bras and spandex?” Buffy asked, mystified.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Ever heard of compound interest, luv? Been in the bank, hasn’t it? A hundred years o’ interest adds up nicely.”

“And you were just gonna give it to me?” Buffy continued, still floored.

“Not ‘were’, ‘ _am’_ – it’s yours, luv. Or... ours?” he asked hopefully. “Assuming the witch can clear up my ghost problem. Could go anywhere. Bring the bit along too. See the sodding pyramids in Egypt, float along the canals of Venice, or dine atop the Eiffel Tower. Anything you want, pet.”

“Spike, I ... I don’t know what to say,” Buffy stammered.

“Yes?” he suggested.

“Spike, I’m the Slayer,” she protested. “I can’t just—”

“You’re not the only one anymore, luv. Haven’t you earned a sodding rest? A life? You and Dawnie both. What you’ve been through ... bloody hell, Buffy. Think you’ve paid your dues and a bit more besides. Know your mum wanted more for you than death and darkness ... wanted you to have a life, pet. Know with me... know I can’t give you a life in the light like you deserve, but... but I ...” Spike stammered to a stop, afraid he would talk her out of it ... talk _himself_ out of it. He couldn’t take her out of the darkness, but he could show her a world where the darkness wasn’t malevolent, where it could be beautiful. 

“I can’t just stop being the Slayer. It’s who I am,” Buffy contended.

“Never ask you to change, Buffy. Just meant you deserve a chance to do something more besides slaying all the sodding time. When was the last time you went on holiday, pet?” Spike wondered, stepping up near her, his eyes delving into hers.

Buffy tried to remember the last time she’d had a real vacation. That summer she’d spent in L.A. with her dad? 1997? Even then she’d snuck out and done some slaying.

Buffy remembered whenever her mom got into a melancholy mood, she’d wistfully say that ‘someday’ she was going to take a road trip across the country, see everything you couldn’t see from the air. The Wall of Gum in Seattle, the Biggest Ball of Twine in Missouri, Bourbon Street in New Orleans, gator farms in Florida, Times Square in New York.

 _Someday_.

Someday never came. Not for her mom.

Buffy felt her throat constrict as she blinked back tears. She missed her mom. Missed the petunias in the planter. Missed her hugs and even her scoldings. Looking up, she met Spike’s eyes, her own glimmering. “How would you feel about a road trip?”

Spike’s face lit up in a wide grin. “Sounds bloody brilliant to me.”

Buffy’s lips curved up into a matching smile, her heart feeling excited for life for the first time in months.

“Spike!” Willow’s voice sounded out from a few yards behind him and he turned. “Catch!”

Something came sailing at the vampire. It looked like the stone from the amulet. Light and refracted color danced over the facets as it spun through the air right at his chest. He reached out instinctively, trying to find his concentration so he could catch it, but his mind wasn’t focused enough. The sodding rock was going to sail right through him. He bloody well hoped whatever spell Red was planning didn’t hinge on him being able to catch the fucking thing!

When it was about two feet from him, it burst into a coruscation of brilliant light, sending glittering shards of color fluttering off in all directions, like a rainbow of snowflakes caught by the swirling Santa Ana winds.

Sounds, sights, and scents he’d barely been aware of as a ghost came rushing into him like a tsunami, knocking him back a step. Everything was so much brighter, so much more vivid to his senses. The next moment Spike’s hand closed over what remained of the gem – a sparkling diamond that shone as if it were made of sunbeams.

“What the bloody—” Spike began, but then stopped, looking at the glittering stone that lay warm against his palm as realization hit him. He pressed his free hand down on the DeSoto’s rear fin – his _very solid_ hand.

Spike turned toward Buffy with wide, jubilant eyes and swept her up into a maniacal embrace, squeezing her until she wheezed something about oxygen. He didn’t have to concentrate, didn’t have to think about it, he just did it.

He dropped the Slayer and turned back around to Willow, snatching her up into a bone-cracking hug. “You sodding did it! I’m back!” he exclaimed, laughing and twirling the witch around in his arms.

“Barf warning! I get sick on the kiddie carousel,” Willow cautioned, laughing.

Spike deposited the witch, who looked a bit green, back on her feet. “I’m free, then – free to move about the country ... the world?”

“Totally free,” Willow assured him, reaching for his fist which was wrapped around the glowing gemstone. He let her open his fingers and take the stone. Producing a gold chain from her pocket, she fused the stone into a setting with a murmured word and held it up to him. “I left a teeny bit of your essence in here,” she explained. “If your soul ever leaves this plane for reals, it’ll turn black. That way someone will know where to start looking for you if you get magicked away.”

Spike took the chain, holding it up to look at the brilliant light that glimmered like a star within the stone. Was he really that bright? That ... effulgent? He shook the thought off as he turned back to Buffy.

“This belongs to you, pet,” he said, undoing the clasp and holding it up. “My heart and soul.”

“Well, technically, it’s your—” Willow stopped when Spike shot her a quelling look. “Yeah, we’ll go with that,” she agreed sheepishly.

Buffy turned around and he lowered the necklace in place around her neck. The glittering diamond of soul-fire settled into the hollow of Buffy’s throat as if made for her. “It’s so pretty ... and warm,” she declared, touching the glittering gem as she turned back to face him.

“Suits you perfectly, luv,” he rumbled, his voice a deep timbre, full of emotion.

“Like you,” Buffy breathed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and captured his lips in a joyous, passionate kiss.

Buffy felt the last of the darkness lift from her heart, floating away into the ether. He was Spike again! He tasted just like Buffy remembered from Sunnydale. Whiskey and blood and tobacco. Spike was back. And he loved her. And she loved him. That was all she’d ever need.

When the kiss broke, Buffy was breathless and filled with too many wonderful emotions to name. The world was waiting ... or at least North America. “Love you, Wills! Thank you so much,” Buffy gushed, rushing over to the redhead and giving her another bone-jarring hug.

“I kinda need my spine where it is,” the witch croaked.

Buffy released her with another laugh. Despite Buffy’s gaunt frame and short hair, she looked more like the Buffy of old. It made Willow’s heart soar to know that she’d been able to bring a spark of joy back into the Slayer’s eyes.

“Can you take this to Faith?” Buffy asked, turning to pick up the scythe. “Tell her she’s in charge ... for a while.”

Willow’s brows went up as she took the weapon. “Where will you be?”

Buffy tossed Spike the keys and he set to getting all the duffels back into their hiding spot, keeping out a few hundred dollars for incidentals. He closed the hidden door and tossed Buffy’s bag in before closing the trunk.

Buffy couldn’t stop grinning as she answered Willow. “We’re going to see a wall of gum and a ball of string and maybe the Grand Canyon, you know, if there’s time. After that, who knows ... maybe The Alamo ... or that mountain with the faces carved in it.”

“Uh, okay ...” Willow stammered, confused, as Spike opened the passenger door for Buffy.

Buffy was walking swiftly backwards, still facing her friend. “Tell Dawn I’m taking her advice and making with the date-age. I’ll call her soon and explain everything.”

“Are you sure?” Willow asked worriedly.

“The surest,” Buffy gushed, bouncing into the passenger’s seat. Spike closed the door and strode around the back of the car, heading for the driver’s side.

“I’ll take care of her. Got my word, Red,” he assured the witch, who was still looking a bit concerned. “And, thanks to you, I can,” he continued, waggling his solid fingers at her. “Owe ya one.”

Willow shrugged. “Least I could do, you know, with the world-savage thing.”

Spike gave her a nod before opening his door and sliding behind the wheel.

As Spike pulled away from the parking spot, Buffy waved one last time at Willow before moving over and cuddling against the vampire’s side.

For the first time in what seemed an eternity to Buffy, the ground had stopped trembling beneath her feet, stopped trying to swallow her whole. Part of her had never left the Hellmouth – not until this day. She’d nearly forgotten how it felt to be on stable ground, to stand on a bedrock of love and respect that had been set down in layers over years. Yes, there were faults in it, cracks here and there, and gorges carved by tears, but the stone was strong, and it was solid. It wouldn’t crumble away beneath her feet, it wouldn’t consume her, or be washed away by the years.

This was love, deep and true, like nothing she’d felt before. She caressed the warm diamond at her throat and sighed contentedly as Spike’s arm wrapped around her. Buffy leaned her head against his shoulder as a wave of perfect happiness washed over her.

Spike relished the feel of Buffy’s body against his, her head on his shoulder. She’d rested a hand on his thigh; it was both intimately comfortable and frustratingly seductive. His newly corporeal form yearned for more, but he was content with the promise her fingers were searing into his flesh through his jeans. Spike’s heart was whole, despite the bit that hung about her neck. That part was right where it belonged, with Buffy. He felt like his entire existence had been leading to this moment, to the amazing woman cuddled against his side. Every twist and turn in the road, every mountain he’d climbed, every ravine he’d tumbled down – it had been for this. Looking back, he wouldn’t change a single moment of it.

“Where to first, luv?” Spike asked as he stopped at the exit.

“That blooming onion thing ... we don’t actually have to go to Australia for it, right?” she wondered.

Spike smirked. “Matter o’ fact, there’s one in Burbank,” he informed her, turning left.

“So much more convenient than Australia,” Buffy approved. “I’m ravenous! I wonder if they have cheesy fries, too? Oh, and a burger. I could totally devour a cheeseburger.” Buffy paused and looked up at him, with a cheeky grin. “Some other things I wouldn’t mind devouring...” she breathed, dragging her hand up his thigh, raking her nails seductively over the rock-solid bulge in his jeans.

Spike gasped in a raspy breath, his hips jerking against her touch, wondering if he should pull the fuck over and ravage her right that moment.

Spike’s foot had just lifted from the accelerator when she clarified, “After dinner, maybe we should see if the Beverly Wilshire is as cozy as your crypt.” She gave his cock a shameless squeeze before sliding her hand back to his thigh.

Spike swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sounds brilliant, pet.”

Buffy grinned. “Thought you’d approve. Now feed your girlfriend.”

‘ _Girlfriend_.’ Spike’s heart soared as he pressed on the gas, hurtling them into a future he’d only imagined in dreams.

**** ****

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts! Of course, this is ripe for a sequel. I wonder if the Beverly Wilshire is as cozy as Spike's old crypt?? Hmmm ....
> 
> References:  
> Where Spike came up with the name of Chester for his ghost friend : https://youtu.be/UVNHcob3oJg  
> The movie Spike is thinking of is ‘Stand By Me’. Here is the Leeches scene: https://youtu.be/V4jg8o9wXys


End file.
